


the ravelled sleeve of care

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Anxiety, Cock Warming, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Incubus Stiles Stilinski, Insomnia, M/M, POV Peter, Succubi & Incubi, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 22:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He puts his hand on the back of Stiles’s neck, and stifles a displeased rumble when the boy jerks. “What’s wrong?” </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” he soothes. The guilt all over his face—and in his scent—betray the lie. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the ravelled sleeve of care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DenaCeleste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenaCeleste/gifts).



> Firstly: HAPPY V-DAY EVERYBODY. Have some Steter fluffies. 
> 
> Dena, darling, please consider this my Valentine's Day gift to you. We talked about this ages ago, and I hope it makes you smile. 
> 
> **Additional Warning** : What Stiles experiences here bears a very real, though subtle, resemblance to PTSD. Because this is a short piece, that isn’t deeply explored, but anyone who deals with anxiety and/or insomnia as a result of PTSD/trauma will notice the similarities. Everyone take care of themselves. 
> 
> Title taken from Shakespeare’s _Macbeth_ , Act II, scene ii, line 34

 

Peter groans, hands tightening in Stiles’s hair and holding him down as Peter comes in his mouth. As awful as the boy’s turning was, the addition of a bedtime blowjob to his daily routine is no hardship. He floats in the afterglow, feeling a heavy warmth settle in his bones. He usually falls asleep like this, blissed out post-orgasm with his young lover curled up beside him.

But sleep doesn’t come easily tonight. It’s probably a result of the nap he took earlier—which was Stiles’s fault. He keeps falling asleep with his head in Peter’s lap, and Peter doesn’t have the heart to wake him. Not when he’s seemed so tired from the change. Unfortunately, it means that sometimes Peter also naps in the middle of day, which is more of a nuisance than anything else.

He’s lying there, calmly, waiting for the utter contentment to pull him under when he notices. And when he does, all thoughts of sleep disappear.

Because Stiles isn’t drifting off either. He’s lying close to Peter, like he always does, but his scent is all wrong, anxious and scared. His breaths are regular in a way that tells Peter he’s consciously timing his inhales and exhales, and his heartbeat is skipping like it’s playing hopscotch.

He puts his hand on the back of Stiles’s neck, and stifles a displeased rumble when the boy jerks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” he soothes. The guilt all over his face—and in his scent—betray the lie.

Peter doesn’t hold back the growl this time. “Stiles.”

The boy moves away, sitting up and curling in on himself. “I just. Sleeping has been hard, since,” he doesn’t finish, but Peter knows he means the attack that turned him.

The attack that happened in the middle of the night, as he slept. Peter feels like an idiot. He sits up, but doesn’t reach out. Not yet. “How often?” Stiles shrugs one shoulder. “How bad?” he asks, and this time, his tone carries an edge.

 Stiles turns his head, cheek resting on his bent knee. He doesn’t look at Peter. “Falling asleep is, well, but even if I do manage, the nightmares are pretty gruesome.”

A lot of things are making sense to Peter, and they are not adding up to a conclusion he likes. The constant hunger and tiredness, despite daily feeds. The napping. Stiles’s insistence on sucking Peter off before bed is seeming less genuine and more calculated by the second.

“Alright, so clearly this is more than a simple case of insomnia, because the anxiety over sleep and the nightmares make it worse.” Peter ignores the hurt, angry look Stiles throws him. Mostly. “We’re talking about it. It won’t get better if we don’t.”

Stiles gives a hollow, bitter-sounding laugh. “Peter, what makes you think that this is going to get better? I was attacked by an incubus and turned while I was asleep and helpless. There’s no getting better from that.”

Peter pulls the boy to him, tucking Stiles in against his side. “I don’t mean that, and you know it. There’s no changing you back, but there’ll be something we can do about the sleep issues.”

Peter smells the embarrassment a few seconds before Stiles’s cheeks heat. “So there _is_ something. Tell me.”

Stiles hides his face in Peter’s neck. The stubble-burn can’t be comfortable, but apparently it’s easier to handle than looking Peter in the eye as he whispers, “I, um. Could I—would you mind if? It’s just, the best sleep I’ve had since turning is when my head’s in your lap.”

It’s an easy request to grant. But the amount of shame oozing from Stiles’s pores tells him that isn’t the whole story. “Ask me for what you _really_ want.” Stiles makes a high-pitched whine. It’s all the confirmation Peter needs. “Spit it out, sweetheart.”

Stiles drags in a deep breath, and Peter smells salt. He pets the back of the boy’s head. “I just. It’s comforting, now that I’m . . .” he trails off, but before Peter can prompt him, he blurts, “I want you in my mouth.”

Peter’s brow furrows for a moment. “You’re not talking about sex, are you?”

Stiles shakes his head as much as he can from where he’s still burrowing into Peter’s shoulder. He makes a distressed sound when Peter grips him by the back of the neck and pulls him away, only to guide his head down into Peter’s lap. “All you had to do was ask, darling.”

And then Peter’s trying to keep his dick from perking up again as Stiles’s lips close around his cock. He leans back against the pillows and strokes his lover’s face as the boy’s breathing evens out, and he drifts into the most peaceful sleep Peter’s witnessed in weeks. He’s irritated that he didn’t figure it out sooner, but no matter. He knows now. He can make sure that Stiles sleeps properly moving forward.

And if that means waking up hard with that hot mouth still around him? Well. He’ll find some way to cope.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: Peter does not have a sparkly magic dick. (Did you know there's actually a tag for that? I was equal parts surprised, amused, and disturbed when I discovered it.) He isn’t curing Stiles. This is just a coping mechanism, a way to make sure that Stiles gets the sleep he needs. The fact that it’s Peter’s dick doing the soothing is directly related to the fact that Stiles is an incubus, now, and as such, finds that part of Peter comforting—in part because he can tell that it’s _Peter_ , and that Peter = Safe. 
> 
> I am not a professional, and therefore cannot tell you whether or not Peter's dick will cure what ails you. (But please let me know how it goes if you try the "Peter Cure". Inquiring minds, 'n all.)


End file.
